Hello, My Name is Seamus and I'm a Boyaholic
by Kelly1
Summary: After reading a tactless if not true entry in his best friend's journal, Seamus Finnigan vows to change his somewhat lecherous ways and exact his revenge on Dean Thomas. Unfortunately for our favourite Slytherin, Draco Malfoy is just the man to help him.
1. Chapter 1 of 6

Disclaimer: These are J.K. Rowling's toys, I'm just taking them out to play and hoping she doesn't sue me because, as a college student, I pretty much own my clothes and a box of Mac & Cheese 

Note 1: This is slash. Boy on boy. M/M. Mano a mano so to speak, though its tame, with only a slight hint of citrus. So if you don't like it, leave, you were warned fairly. Any flames due to this issue will be used to burn close-minded people at the steak, the remainder will be used to roast tofu-dogs.

Note 2: I love Seamus, I think he is just the most adorable and least frequently used character in the HP fanfic world so I wanted to make this, if only for my own sweet Irish boy obsession. I also like writing Draco as somewhat human and not inherently evil to the core, which I really don't believe he is. So if you don't like it, or think characters are OOC, that's perfectly fine. Feel free to flame. Also, if you plan to read a much better story than this that has blazed trails for Slutty!Seamus fans everywhere, I suggest reading "Seamus is Seamus and You are Yourself" by Ari Munami, which is surely better than this is bound to turn out.

Note 3: word – denotes italics, the word is stressed or emphasized

-------------- – is a change of scene or POV

Note 4: This story will be updated once every 2 days, until all six parts are up.

Summary: After reading a tactless (if not true) entry in his best friend's journal, Seamus Finnigan vows to change his somewhat lecherous ways and exact his revenge on Dean Thomas. Unfortunately for our favourite Slytherin, Draco Malfoy is just the man to help him. M/M Seamus/Draco, Seamus/Dean.

Hello, My Name is Seamus and I'm a Slut-aholic . . . Part 1/6 By Kelly M.  
hermindkillsyahoo.ca

A slut? Seamus Malachy Finnigan was not a slut.

Seamus reread the journal entry, Dean's neat, crisp handwriting glared up at him. The entry was dated three weeks ago. "Seamus kissed me for the first time tonight. I dunno what he meant by it though. He could just be joking, he does things like that. You can never tell if he's being serious. He's quite a bit of a slut really. A cute slut, but a slut nonetheless . . . "

"He does things like that?" What did that mean? It wasn't like he went around snogging everybody. He had restraint. Not loads of it, mind you, but enough to keep him from say, dry humping Snape in Potions . . . well, after the first time and two weeks detention, anyway. But that didn't make him a slut, did it? He'd never even, well, done it, with anyone.

Seamus was the first to admit he flirted, but then again who didn't? They were teenagers for the love of Mike. Raging hormones and all that. And sure, maybe where most people cut their flirtations off at a wink or a giggle and his generally drew the line at . . . well, some sort of groping . . . that didn't make him worse than anybody else. Just bolder. Er, right?

Slut just seemed so harsh, especially coming from Dean. He would never write something like that about his best friend in his journal. They were more than best friends, if he were going to be completely honest. How many friends kissed each other with tongue on a regular basis? He thought things had been going so well for him and his dorm-mate, and now he had to go read this stupid journal and find out that Dean thought of him as an eager man-whore. That little leather bound book sitting open on his friend's night stand had been too much to resist, though. That's what he got for being curious, the bloody cat was dead in a big way.

"Seamus? What are you doing?" Seamus dropped the book guiltily onto Dean's bedspread as Neville came into their room.

"Nothing Nev," he responded a little too quickly. Seamus could feel the red creep into his ears. "Just reading."

He eyed the book with interest, "What?"

"Uh . . . uh." Of course Neville was going to ask him what he was reading, Seamus was such an idiot. Why couldn't he just learn to lie under pressure like any normal teenager? "Erm, stuff for extra credit in Divination. Apparently I haven't predicted my death enough or something, mark's a little low," he mumbled, which wasn't entirely untrue. His Divination mark had started to slide since he and Dean had been skipping classes to spend some quality time behind the stacks of books in the library's study room. Not that he was really sure of what the other boy thought of him. Sometimes Dean seemed all for a relationship with Seamus, and other times he was distant.

"You can have some of my notes if you want," he smiled good-naturedly, "I've noticed you've missed some classes."

"Erm, yeah. That'd be great."

"Well, I just wanted to tell you we're heading down for dinner. You coming?"

"In a minute," he replied pensively, "Hey Neville?" He called out as the round faced boy reached the door.

"Yes?"

"Do you think I'm . . . a slut?"

"Um . . ."

Seamus shook his head, "Never mind, you don't have to answer that." He'd already got his answer from Neville's hesitation anyway. The other boy beat a hasty retreat down to the common room. Well, that settled it then. He was a slut. And a mad slut at that! How dare Dean? He knew what he was getting into before he lowered those chocolatey eyes and kissed Seamus for the first time. That was just who Seamus was; he wasn't going to change it no matter what he read in some stupid journal, no matter what anyone else thought.

But that didn't mean he couldn't pretend to have suddenly become cool and calm and horny-free. Seamus could almost hear the synapsis firing in his brain. What would his dear Dean think then, if he suddenly became "hard to get?" Oh this was too good for words. He repeated the phrase over in his head, deliciously slowly. Hard to get, hard to get. Seamus Finnigan was sexy, aloof, and hard to get. He grinned. If Seamus held out for a day, no, no, a week, if Seamus held out on even so much as winking at someone, especially Dean; if he became hot and untouchable for one whole week, they'd see who turned to slutitution. Dean would be begging him for the attention. But how?

There was the million dollar question, the coup d'etat, the cherry on the sundae, the . . . he was running out of analogies. Well, it was the most important part anyway. How could he become less like Seamus and more, well, more calm and cool and darkly appealing like . . . oh bloody hell . . .

--------------

It was like Gryffindors to be odd, but this was just ridiculous. All he had wanted to do was to go to the bathroom near the Great Hall. Draco stared incredulously as Seamus Finnigan repeatedly banged his head against the bathroom wall, obviously unaware that he was not alone. "Bloody hell, bloody hell, bloody hell!"

Draco had never given much thought to the boy, despite the fact they'd had Potions together for quite some time now because, frankly, he was a Gryffindor. He hadn't really warranted much attention except for his constant flirting with pretty much anything that moved. But now that he'd gone completely off the deep end, Draco wondered if he should have been looking for signs for this sort of thing, if only so he could one day say solemnly to a Daily Prophet reporter, "He was such a quiet boy, he seemed so nice. No one would have ever expected him to go on a murderous whip-cream and spray cheese rampage."

Not that one couldn't have expected this to happen some day, eventually. All that goodness and bravery and morality had to wear on a person, it was only natural that a Gryffindor go mad and start trying to vandalize school property with their skull. Draco backed quickly out of the boys washroom, the bathrooms off the Slytherin common room were much nicer anyway. And a lot safer for the bricks.

Still, he'd keep an eye on Finnigan. If only for his own amusement.


	2. Chapter 2 of 6

A/N: Ack, I know I said 2 days and in theory it is three, but really I am still awake for Friday as it is only 1am. Woops heh : sheepish grin :

Hello, My Name is Seamus and I'm a Slut-aholic . . .

Part 2/6 By Kelly M.  
hermindkillsyahoo.ca

Draco wouldn't have even noticed there was something strange going on the next day had it not been for his sheer and utter boredom in his insufferable "Care of Magical Deathtraps-Waiting-to-Devour-Us-at-the-Drop-of-a-Hat" class with the Gryffindors and the incompetent oaf professor. The behemoth was blathering on about feeding something or other outside his decrepit hut when Draco heard the scratch of quill on parchment. Not even Granger took notes in this class.

He swivelled his head slowly, an indifferent look on his face, he didn't want to appear too interested. A short sandy-haired Gryffindor was scribbling madly, turned in the direction of the pack of Slytherins Draco was standing in. Finnigan, and he was up to something...perhaps planning his next head on stone attack.

His eyes darted up from his writing, looking dead center at Draco, widening as they met his straight on. Draco felt his face sink naturally into a deep scowl. What was that crazy twit up to? A flush spread quickly across the boy's cheeks, into even his ears and neck. He looked quickly back down at his small green book, his writing slow and deliberate. That was about Draco, he was sure of it. And he wanted it. He was a Malfoy; Malfoys always got what they wanted. A sharp nudge to Goyle's stomach got his attention. "I want you to take Finnigan's books after class."

He could practically see the tiny thought work its way through Goyle's massive head. It finished with a spectacular furrow of the boy's brow. "Why?"

Draco rubbed his temples. He sometimes wondered if it was worth keeping half-wits around for his protection. "Because I /want/ them, that's why. He's a Gryffindor and I want to see him suffer like the git he is," he hissed in a clipped tone.

"Oh," more processing, more furrowing, "okay."

Honestly, they weren't kidding when they said good help was hard to find. He'd heard good things about trained monkeys though . . .

------------------

The cool, crisp fall air sent delightful ripples across Hogwart's grass. The sun was shining, birds were chirping merrily in the trees. It was a wonderful day to be alive. Unless of course you were Seamus Finnigan, and hanging upside down by your ankles about half a metre above the rippling grass, the sun being blocked by your assailant, the birds' chirping a sort of dizzy ringing in your ears as the blood rushed to your head – which was the predicament the Gryffindor found himself in at the moment. He hugged his books to his chest and cursed himself for getting into this mess.

If he'd just gone back to the common room with the rest of the Gryffindors instead of hanging back and asking Hagrid an absolutely pointless question, he wouldn't have had to deal with the wrath of the Slytherins. But going back would have meant walking with Dean, who was bound to try and do something, even if it was as simple as hold his hand. And Seamus was doing so good thus far in his plan. He'd even refused to kiss Dean good night before they'd went to bed. He hadn't winked at Harry or Ron or Nev as they were getting changed in the morning, and even Lavender brushing up against him at breakfast hadn't gotten a response.

But bugger it was hard. That's why he'd been taking notes in his journal in Hagrid's class. Who better to teach him the ways of being a reticent ass than Draco Malfoy. Seamus' plan was simple, he was just going to watch Draco for the next couple of classes that the Gryffindors and Slytherins had together, and then he'd learn the ways of being...well, still desirable but not slutty, which he had to admit, for all his flaws, Malfoy definitely was.

Seamus had a sinking feeling that his current predicament had to do with this plan. Goyle held him upside down while Draco made a sharp grab for his notes, which Seamus clutched onto for dear life. If Malfoy saw what he had written down he'd be a dead man. "What's the ickle Gryffindor got there?" Malfoy sneered down at him. He'd have to write this down later. Sneer, twinkle in eyes, eyebrow cocked, one side of the lips almost smiling, but standoffish, demanding. He wanted Seamus' books badly, but he didn't betray it. He'd have to remember that if he survived. Which was looking less and less likely as the ground started to lurch a bit below him.

He took a swing at Goyle's kneecaps, which of course did nothing but give Malfoy the perfect opportunity to grab his books. Hell. "Well, well, well," he clucked his tongue, "what have we here?" If some wayward lightning bolt could come out of the heavens and strike him or Malfoy dead at this very instant he would never ask for anything ever again. "I want an answer Finnigan, what is this?"

"Hold on, I'm waiting for something." After about half a minute lightning bolt free, Seamus sighed. Good for nothing weather anomalies. "It's nothing Malfoy, give it here."

"Nothing eh?" To Seamus' horror, he began to read aloud from the smallest green book, his journal. "I, Seamus Malachy Finnigan, do solemnly vow to be hard to get for the next week in order to exact revenge on Dean Thomas and his bloody journal . . ." At this, Malfoy raised his eyebrows. He turned to Goyle, "Alright, drop him."

This was a miracle, praise the lord. Malfoy was letting him go before he had gotten to the point on the parchment where Seamus was making detailed notes and sketches of his expressions. He dropped with a soft 'Oof' and almost kissed the ground in relief at his luck. "Alright Goyle, you've helped enough. Leave." The stocky boy ambled off to join the rest of the Slytherins, leaving just Malfoy and himself.

Seamus scrambled to his feet. "Well, I'll just take my books back and get going then."

At this Malfoy laughed. It was not a pleasant laugh. Oh hell. "As much as I hate getting involved with the /lesser/ houses, I haven't come across a good revenge plot in a while. And I'd hate to ignore one that so clearly involves me." He flipped forward in the journal, stabbing his finger at the sketches. Seamus was dead, it was official. He though maybe he'd go with a nice pine coffin, white satin lining, nothing too showy . . . Draco's eyes narrowed. "What are you /really/ doing?"

"Uh, well, you see, um . . ."

"Spill it, Finnigan, or I'll call Goyle back."

He took a deep breath, maybe if he spoke really, really fast Malfoy would get confused and give up. Seamus once again cursed his inability to lie under pressure. "Well, Deancalledmeaslut butI'mnotone,really,soIwantedto /pant/ teachhimalessonsoIthoughtifIbecamemorealoofand /pant/ lesseagerhe'dwantmeandapologize. /pant/ AndIthoughtwhobettertolearnfrom /pant/ aboutbeing,youknow,detatchedbutsexythanfromyou." He laughed nervously.

Malfoy looked at him impatiently. "Spill it in slow, understandable English or I'll call Goyle back, Finnigan."

"Dean called me a slut. That made me mad. So I wanted to get back at him by being really un-flirty but sexy and see how he liked it," sniffed Seamus indignantly.

"One: that is the lamest plot for revenge I have ever heard. I almost pity you. Almost. Two: I still can't possibly fathom how I am involved in this."

"Well, you know . . ." Seamus looked down at his shoes. Shoes could be really quite fascinating when one was trying to stall. And that twig at his foot was just enthralling . . .


	3. Chapter 3 of 6

Hello, My Name is Seamus and I'm a Slut-aholic . . .

Part 3/6 By Kelly M.  
hermindkillsyahoo.ca

Draco was growing increasingly impatient. He had given up a good ten minutes of his lunch already with the half-snapped Gryffindor and the best the head-banging git could give him was an incoherent babble as to why there were sketches of himself all over his notes. "Spill it in slow, understandable English or I'll call Goyle back, Finnigan." He enjoyed watching the smaller boy squirm, his face growing increasingly more red as their conversation progressed. Draco couldn't tell if it was from anger or embarrassment.

"Dean called me a slut. That made me mad. So I wanted to get back at him by being really un-flirty but sexy and see how he liked it." He sounded like a child. Draco smirked at this, suddenly in no rush to get to the dining hall. Most of the Gryffindors /were/ children when it came to things like this. They wanted revenge, but lacked the basic skills to get it. And he really /did/ enjoy a good relationship problem.

"One: that is the lamest plot for revenge I have ever heard. I almost pity you. Almost. Two: I still can't possibly fathom how I am involved in this."

"Well, you know . . ." Finnigan flushed a deeper red and turned his attention to his shoes. It was definitely embarrassment.

"No, I do not /know./ Please enlighten me on the way the brain of a demented Gryffindor works." He was not a mind reader, especially when it came to the minds of neurotic little crackpots who walked around muttering to themselves, hitting their heads on bathroom walls, and stalking him.

"You're sexy, alright! I just thought if I could be a little more like you and a little less like me Dean wouldn't think of me so . . . so badly." Malfoy had to hide his grin. The Gryffindor thought he was sexy. The fact that he was angry only made it better.

"Oh, you want to be like me? Well, that's perfectly understandable." He ruffled Seamus' hair roughly, a plan forming in his head. "Just not easily done. Better men than you have tried and failed," he mused. He was drawn. On one hand, he was helping the Finnigan boy for nothing in return, which was deplorable for any Malfoy. On the other hand, he was helping him get revenge on someone, which was a perfectly acceptable act. He supposed just this once he would allow it. He was, after all, quite bored. "But then again, I like a challenge." He handed the books back to Finnigan, more pleased with himself than he had been in ages.

Finnigan stared at him, thoroughly bewildered. He wasn't bad looking for a Gryffindor, a little on the scrawny side, but not bad at all. Draco allowed himself another smirk. "Meet me tonight, outside the library, seven o'clock."

---------------

Well/Whump/ it was official. /Whump/ Seamus had made a deal with the devil. /Whump/ He wasn't exactly sure how bashing his head repeatedly into the bathroom wall was going to solve this problem, but there had to be something. Heck, maybe he would pass out and miss the meeting altogether.

"You know, if you keep doing that, people are going to think you've snapped."

Seamus jumped, he hadn't even heard the bathroom door open. And of course, because the universe had a not-so-secret vendetta against him, there stood Malfoy, in all his smirking glory. Luck of the Irish, his arse. "If they find out I'm making plans to be more like you they're going to think that anyway."

"Do you really think I'm going to help you with an attitude like that," he drawled. The blonde boy crossed his arms and leaned calmly against the back of the door, his smile unnerving. Seamus had a sinking feeling that Malfoy wasn't really going to help him at all. Vivid images of being hogtied and left outside on the lawn with 'I'm a slut' painted across his bare chest in nothing but his skivvies flashed through Seamus' head. Alright, perhaps that was a wee bit dramatic, but still, he was dealing with Draco Malfoy, which was about as safe as dealing with a box of angry skrewts. No matter how hard you tried, you were bound to get burned.

The two stood at a sort of stalemate in the boys bathroom outside of the library, Seamus still less than an arms length from the east wall, Malfoy bracing himself against the door. Seamus wasn't really sure how long they stood there. Too long for his comfort, that was for sure. The clock striking seven caused Malfoy's smile and the pit in Seamus' stomach to grow. He clicked the lock. "Uh, Draco?"

Seamus scrambled in his robes to find his wand as Malfoy produced his hands from behind his back, a long wooden object on his left hand, a tube of something slimy and purple in his right. It had been a trick. Malfoy was going to curse him. How had he been so stupid? He turned quickly, facing Draco, his wand high and body tense. Malfoy actually had the nerve to laugh.

Wait. What?

Why Draco laughing in the middle of a duel? And not that snide, superior chuckle either. It was full on almost-crying stomach-holding laughter. His hand over his mouth to suppress the sound from echoing off the high stone ceiling, Malfoy doubled over with another glance at Seamus, who was in turn both bewildered and angry. Seamus puffed up his chest and tried to demand assertively, "Drop the wand, Malfoy."

Another laugh. "You see, I'd love to Finnigan /snort/ but all I have is this brush. Oh, and some gel." He set them down on the edge of a sink, the laugher subsiding into an spectacularly amused smirk. Draco boosted himself onto the neighbouring sink, his eyes still on Seamus who remained dumbly in his battle position.

Seamus dropped his arm limply to his side, heat creeping into his ears. He was never going to live this down. Ever. "I'm s. . ."

"Such a paranoid psychopath? Yes, I can see that. Which, I must say, is more tolerable than someone who grovels. So don't even think about apologizing or I'm afraid I can't do anything past this point to help you."

"Erm, what?"

Malfoy sighed dramatically and crossed his arms over his chest, still balanced precariously on the edge of the sink. He gave Seamus an annoyed stare. "From now on, no apologizing. You were about to say you were sorry. That word is so horribly overused. People are always saying things like 'I'm sorry, do you have the time,' 'I'm sorry, but your chair is on my cloak,' 'I'm sorry I tried to impale you with my wand when you were only attempting to groom me.' Well, maybe not /always/ saying that last one, but you get the idea. It's tired. You are Seamus Finnigan and you need to apologize to no one."

"I guess, yeah," Seamus mumbled in agreement. He still wasn't entirely sure how much faith he should put in Malfoy, though he did feel significantly more comfortable knowing he was brandishing styling products instead of tools of destruction.

"You guess, yeah?" He cocked an eyebrow, "Boy, are you a piece of work."

"Like you're one to talk. You're an egocentric narcissist."

"An egocentric narcissist who you want to be more like, if I remember our conversation from earlier today correctly. Look, I couldn't be Malfoy if I didn't love being Malfoy and you can't be Finnigan without loving being Finnigan." He gave a withered sigh, as if explaining a concept as basic as don't hold your wand backwards, "Repeat after me: I am Seamus Finnigan."

"I . . . I am Seamus Finnigan."

"I am Seamus Finnigan and I don't need to apologize."

"I am Seamus Finnigan and I don't need to apologize."

"Louder! I am Seamus Finnigan and I am hot."

"I am Seamus Finnigan and I am . . . hot?"

"More conviction Finnigan! I am Seamus Finnigan and I am hot!"

"I am Seamus Finnigan and I am hot!"

"Good. Again!"

"I am Seamus Finnigan and I am hot!"

"One more, really scream it. I am Seamus Finnigan and I am not a slut."

"I'm Seamus Finnigan and I'M ABSOLUTELY POSITIVELY NOT A SLUT!"


	4. Chapter 4 of 6

Note: In the HP series, J.K. describes Draco as having gray eyes, she never describes Seamus'. In the movies, Malfoy has blue eyes and so does Finnigan, so I took Seamus' eye colour from the movie and Draco's from the book. No flames for this please. I tried to cross reference, I really did. 

Hello, My Name is Seamus and I'm a Slut-aholic . . .

Part 4/6 By Kelly M.  
hermindkillsyahoo.ca

"Seamus?"

"Why were you yelling, Fin?"

"Oy, are you alright in there?"

Great, just what Draco needed: Weasley, Thomas and Longbottom bursting in and ruining his little session with the Irish Gryffindor by whipping him soundly. What were they doing near the library anyway? He'd be surprised if they could even read. They pounded furiously on the door and Draco thanked himself for having the foresight to use a sealing charm.

"Um . . . er . . . I'm fine," Finnigan called back, "I just . . . uh . . . I . . ." Draco stared at Finnigan, waiting for him to come up with something. The Gryffindor just stared back, wide-eyed with panicky fear.

Never leave a Gryffindor to do a Slytherin's job. Draco sighed and beckoned him closer, whispering in his ear, "You stubbed your toe."

Finnigan looked at him, thoroughly perplexed. "No I didn't," he whispered back.

"Oh, for the love of . . ." Draco rubbed his temples. "/Say/ you stubbed your toe. That's why you were yelling."

"Oh/right./" Finnigan's voice rose to a yell, "I just stubbed my toe, I'm alright now." Draco sighed in relief, they had just dodged a bullet. Those annoying twits would leave now.

"Uh, Fin? Why's the door locked?"

Draco cursed silently in his head, stupid Thomas and his stupid logical questions. He could tell Finnigan to say it locked behind him by accident, but that would bring help and teachers and then the inevitable horror of having to explain why Seamus and himself were locked in a bathroom. He could say that Peeves broke the handle, but again, help would be brought and the door knob would clearly still be intact, bringing more uncomfortable explanations.

Once again, Finnigan struggled for a response and Draco cringed as he opened his mouth. That boy just couldn't lie well. "Uh, I'm naked." Draco could hear an audible pause outside the door. Heck, he was pretty shocked himself.

Finally, a squeaky voiced Thomas called out, "Did someone take your clothes?"

Finnigan winked at him, clearly suppressing a grin, "Nope. I just wanted to be."

"Oh . . . alright." He mouthed 'He's picturing me naked' to Draco, who couldn't keep from grinning a bit himself. "We'll see you back at the room then, Fin."

"Alright, thanks fellas."

There was a shuffle outside as the trio left and Draco breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay, no more yelling."

The normally pale Finnigan was flushed and beaming, "Did you see that? I came up with a lie."

Draco shook his head, trying hard not to laugh in spite of himself. "Necessity is the mother of invention."

"Huh?"

"You were desperate for a lie so one just came to you," He smirked indulgently. "Though now that you've told people you're naked, we're going to have to leave here at separate times."

Draco clapped his hands together briskly, all business again, and slid off the sink, circling Finnigan who was still grinning proudly. The hair was a little mousy, but they could fix that. He was short but well-proportioned, nice shoulders and excellent eyes, a greyish blue with a sparkle, like Finnigan was trying to get away with something. Draco mused as to what that something could possibly be. "Hmm."

Finnigan looked at him anxiously and Draco snapped out of his thoughts; thoughts he most certainly shouldn't be having about the git of a Gryffindor he was trying to help snag someone else. "What that a good 'hmm,' or a bad 'hmm?'"

No sense boosting his ego more than need be. "It was a decent 'hmm.' With a little work, you will definitely have Thomas' attention."

Finnigan eyed him skeptically, "What kind of work?"

------------

Seamus wriggled as the long thin fingers tickled his head, the strange sensation of sticky gel and Malfoy tugging his generally flat hair into little spikes. He was promptly scolded with a sharp, "Sit still!"

"Sorry."

There was sigh from behind him, where Malfoy stood between him and the mirror, "No, you're not. You are Seamus Finnigan and . . . "

"And I don't need to apologize," he finished with a laugh.

"Right." Seamus had to admit Malfoy had an interesting philosophy. It was as if, just by thinking he was superior and sexy, he really became so. Not that Seamus was going to change the way he did things after this week was up, he still believed making people laugh and flirting shamelessly was the way to go, but it was interesting nonetheless. At least he finally understood what made the standoffish boy tick. "Okay, we're fixing your horrid hair, you've made detailed notes on how to be 'sexy but not slutty' like me," Seamus could hear the amusement in Malfoy's voice, "and now all we have to worry about is clothes."

"My hair was horrid?" Sure it was short and didn't really /do/ anything, but it wasn't dirty or ratty or something.

"It was boring. Boring does not attract attention."

"All right fine." Seamus shook his head in resignation, "Wait, what's wrong with my clothes?"

"Again, boring."

"We all wear black robes. How are mine more boring than anyone else's?"

This brought another withered sigh from Malfoy. Honestly, Seamus wasn't trying to be difficult. "Not your classroom clothes. What do you wear around the common room?"

"I dunno, whatever's fairly clean."

"Wear royal blue. I know it sounds cheesy but it'll bring out your eyes." Seamus noticed for the first time that Malfoy was wearing a slate grey sweater, slightly darker than his eyes. Hmm. "And go with something with a higher neck, it'll show off your shoulders and draw attention away from your short torso."

No one had ever informed Seamus his torso was short. You learned something new every day, he supposed. It didn't feel abnormally short. He squirmed to try and see himself in the mirror, but a firm hand held him in place. "Alright, any other tips?"

"You room with Thomas, right?"

"Yeah."

"What do you wear to bed?" Why did what he wore to bed matter? He was sleeping, Dean didn't care about stuff like that. Or at least, he didn't think he did.

"Usually an old t-shirt and sweat pants."

"With boxers or briefs?"

Seamus eyed Malfoy skeptically. "Isn't that a little personal?"

"Do you want my advice or not? I could just go and tell Thomas about your stupid little plan."

"No, no. Fine, boxers."

"What kind?"

"Today they're blue plaid"  
"That can work." Malfoy had moved around to the front of Seamus' head and put his hand on his chin, "Plaid isn't bad. Wear just your boxers to bed tonight."

"But I'll be cold."

"Suck it up, buttercup. Do you want Thomas or not?"

"Yes."

"Then deal with being cold." Malfoy backed away, squinting at Seamus with one eye. "Okay, I'm finished." He allowed Seamus to examine himself in the mirror. "It's not brilliant or anything but . . ."

Seamus stepped closer to his reflection, he looked, well, different, older, and the gel darkened his hair to a deep brown. "No, it's great."

Dean Thomas, look out.


	5. Chapter 5 of 6

A/N: Ack so I sort of lied again. I am going to my friends cottage this long weekend, therefore the final installment of this will be up Sunday when I get back, not Saturday as schedualed. Please don't hate me

Hello, My Name is Seamus and I'm a Slut-aholic . . .

Part 5/6 By Kelly M.  
hermindkillsyahoo.ca

Bloody Finnigan and his bloody plaid boxers. It was amazing Draco had been able to write any notes at all during classes these last four days, what with his libido and his imagination teamed up to conspire against him. Potions was the worst. Through the whole class, Thomas was practically sitting in Finnigan's lap, who treated him with an indifferent air, then beamed widely over his shoulder at Draco when Thomas wasn't looking. It had driven him mad.

And now . . . now Finnigan had the nerve to wear a light blue sweater to dinner last night, looking with his newly spiked hair and bored stare every inch of unadulterated gorgeous. And Draco had done this all so another boy could have him. /This/ was exactly the reason why he never helped anyone. He was just bound to be screwed. Draco watched as Thomas inched closer to Finnigan. Or not screwed, to be more accurate.

'Helping other people only takes time away from helping yourself.' It was almost the Malfoy creed, right up there with 'Fluffy things must die,'and definitely something that had been instilled in him at birth and kept with him throughout his life so far. And so far it had been nothing but true. Had he not helped Finnigan, his and Thomas' relationship would have ended in a fiery crash involving yelling and petty squabbles which, as an uninvolved bystander, Draco could have thoroughly enjoyed. But no, he just /had/ to get involved/had/ to help, and all he ended up with was a very happy couple of Gryffindor twits and a barrage of x-rated mental images involving Finnigan and blue plaid boxers.

Draco seethed, watching Thomas laugh at something Finnigan said, touching his arm. That was the oldest trick in the book. He had to be stopped; Thomas didn't have a clue when it came to the Irish boy. Finnigan deserved someone better than that. Like Draco, for example. No, not Draco. What was wrong with him?

He did not like Finnigan. It was more a matter of principal, really. That was his gel in Finnigan's hair, his choice of clothing, his amused smirk. All that belonged to him. It was all incredibly simple, when you broke it down. That was his Finnigan.

Oh hell, he did not just think that.

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Seamus stretched in the dawning Saturday morning light. He was an early riser, despite the fact the rest of his roommates almost always slept well past eleven, which meant he generally grabbed his clothes and changed in the Gryffindor W.C. He definitely couldn't sleep on a day like this. Day six was just about to begin and his plan was working. Dean was paying more attention to him than he ever had, not to mention scores of tittering first years that blushed and nudged each other whenever he passed. Seamus felt very good, despite the fact he had to hide it behind indifferent stares and bored smirks.

Tomorrow they went to Hogsmeade, but today was a day to both lounge around, looking good, of course, and finish his schoolwork. Seamus liked getting it done in the morning, that way he could enjoy the rest of the day. He yawned, pulling a light blue t-shirt over his head. No way he was going down to the common bathroom in just his boxers, he'd just change in his bed. The t-shirt was a little tight, he hadn't worn it in about a year, but he supposed it would do. He paired it with some jeans and padded down the stairs to the common room in his sock feet, carrying his shoes.

The clock there read half past seven, almost time for breakfast. Running a gelled hand through his hair and giving himself a once over in the mirror, he decided he might as well head down, not that he was going to have to beat a rush. Generally himself, a second year Ravenclaw, and occasionally a sixth year Hufflepuff were the only students who attended the Saturday morning breakfast at this time.

It was a great surprise then, when he found Malfoy sitting at the Slytherin table as he entered, picking disinterestedly at a bowl of porridge. Grabbing a place setting and some toast from the Gryffindor table, Seamus crossed the hall and sat down across from him, receiving a disapproving glare from Snape. "Good morning sunshine."

Malfoy looked up from his massacred porridge, which, on Seamus' closer inspection, he wasn't really picking at. It was more of a sharp stabbing motion. Malfoy rolled his eyes at him, his expression somewhere between annoyance and amusement, "Good morning."

"And how are you on this wonderful Saturday morning?"

Another eye roll, "Clearly not as /chipper/ as you are."

"Clearly," Seamus teased, which brought a small smile from the Slytherin. "Everything is going magnificently with Dean, thanks to you."

The smile disappeared. "I'm sure you and Thomas will be very happy together," there was an edge to his voice as he drove the spoon back into the mushy greyish goop.

Seamus chose to ignore him, Malfoy just wasn't a morning person. He'd be happier once he woke up completely, he still looked pretty tired. "Hope so," he smiled brightly, spreading jam on his toast. "Dean's a really great guy."

"Yeah." Malfoy narrowed his eyes and resumed his attack on the porridge. "A really great guy who obviously still thinks you're a shameless flirt."

Seamus' stomach dropped, the toast in his mouth suddenly too dry to swallow. "What?"

"Look Finnigan, I know guys like Thomas. You noticed he's paying you more attention right?"

Seamus didn't like the way Malfoy made that sound like a bad thing. "Yeah?"

"And he started to pay you that attention just about the same time everybody else started to notice you too, didn't he?"

"I guess so but ..."

"But he still hasn't made a move, has he? Don't you see, Finnigan? It's because he thinks you're used goods – easy, so to speak. He can just step up and have you anytime his little heart desires because you're still nothing but a," Malfoy drawled lazily, lingering on the last word, "slut."

"But I'm not a slut." Seamus felt his chest tighten. "I'm not a slut, Malfoy." Malfoy just shrugged, staring intently at his breakfast, not meeting his eyes. His silence was infuriating. Seamus clenched his fists, his knuckles a throbbing white, "You don't know what your talking about. Dean doesn't think that about me anymore."

"You're an idiot if you believe that." Malfoy's voice was smug, almost taunting. Seamus could have almost swore he heard a slight falter in his tone, but was filled with far too much indignant rage to dwell on it.

"You're the idiot Malfoy; you can't recognize love when you see it."

Malfoy slammed his spoon down, the table shaking from the force. "Well, I'm done here. It was a /pleasure/ talking to you Finnigan." The anger in his voice was palpable. "Don't let it happen again." He stood and exited the Great Hall rapidly, leaving Seamus sitting at a table that wasn't even his own with a mushy bowl of oatmeal and a horrible feeling in his stomach.

It was stupid to think he and Malfoy were maybe going to become friends after the past week, in hindsight. But they'd had a lot of fun in the bathroom, and it was nice to have someone to talk to outside of Gryffindor. It was selfish of Seamus though, to expect something more from someone who had already helped him quite a bit. Heck, Malfoy had probably only done it to get Seamus off his back.

Besides, he had Dean now, Seamus didn't need Malfoy.

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Draco sat in the silent Slytherin common room, staring blankly at his Potions homework. Yeah, those random doodles of gel and checked boxers were doing him a lot of good now that he had to write a foot and a half of parchment on how to make a callus-dissolving potion. He supposed he could just 'borrow' Zabini's essay later.

His stomach grumbled loudly, and Draco wished he'd taken the porridge with him. Then again, he doubted his exit would have been nearly so dramatic with him carrying a bowl of greyish slop. Of course, he could've thrown it at Finnigan then and wiped that silly, ridiculously happy grin off his face. But he'd still be in the same breakfast-less predicament he was in now anyway, so he was glad he went with his first instinct.

Finnigan looked so /happy, disgustingly happy really. It just wasn't natural. Being that happy only set a person up to fall flat on their face into cold hard reality. "Dean's a really great guy." Draco laughed to himself. He'd love to be there the day Finnigan found out what a lie that was. Thomas barely made it to the mediocre guy category, and there was something that Draco didn't completely like about him. And it wasn't jealously.

Draco was not jealous, because he did not love Finnigan at all. Even remotely. Even as a friend. Even as an acquaintance. Even if there were the last two people on the earth. Draco loved black clothing and snide comments and messing with Potter's head. He did not Not NOT love Finnigan.

He just really liked him.

Damn . . .


	6. Chapter 6 of 6

Hello, My Name is Seamus and I'm a Slut-aholic . . . (The stunning : cough : conclusion heh)

Part 6/6 By Kelly M.  
hermindkillsyahoo.ca

Dean was sitting cross-legged on his bed when Seamus returned from doing the brutal Potion's essay in the common room. He noticed with an amused smirk that Nev, Ron, and Harry were nowhere in sight. Dean chirped a happy "Good morning," and gave him a huge grin, making Seamus blush in spite of himself. This was perfect. Dean was perfect. This was everything he had ever wanted. Or thought he had wanted six days ago. He still couldn't shake the uneasiness of his conversation with Malfoy earlier. That didn't matter now though. Now he had Dean smiling at him and sitting on his bed in an empty room and life was perfect.

"Mornin' Dean." It was a dumb, stupid, obvious thing to say, but he didn't really care about being cool and aloof anymore. He had Dean, he'd proven to him he could be sexy without being flirty. He even had the boy's respect and love and tongue . . . the /hell/

Seamus snapped out of his thoughts with the intent tongue sliding over his lips and attempting to push them open. He stared widely, disbelievingly into Dean's eyes, first relenting instinctively to the soft pressure, then pulling sharply away. "What are you doing?"

Dean almost moaned, his lips dangerously close again to Seamus.' "It's been almost a week, Fin." His voice was choked and deep, "You've proven your little point. I want the old Seamus back."

He felt his breath quicken, his bottom lip brushing Dean's. That contact was too much for either boy to bear. Between quick, ardent kisses, he managed to get out the words, "Really? You like the old me?"

Dean had rolled him back onto the bed and was heavy on his chest, his hands roaming under Seamus shirt. "Of course I like the old you. Hell, I was beginning to be afraid I'd never get to do this again." Seamus tried to suppress the groan that threatened to part his lips as Dean's left hand traveled from his chest to beneath his boxers, stroking him roughly. "That's my boy," he encouraged as Seamus' hips rose to meet him, "I knew you couldn't change what you are."

Something in Seamus brain stopped abruptly, switching his thoughts from the growing pressure from Dean's hand to what he just said. "What I am? " He suddenly felt sick. "And what's that, Dean Thomas?"

"Well, you know . . . "

Seamus pulled away violently and ended up on the floor, looking up into Deans' disbelieving stare. He hardened his face. "No, I guess I don't Dean." Seamus stood angrily, trying to keep himself from crying or hitting Dean square in the jaw or both. "Maybe your /journal/ can shed some light on the situation!" Seamus grabbed it from Dean's night stand and waved the leather bound book wildly over his head. Feeling his chest tighten, he flipped to the infamous entry and began to read aloud, "'Seamus kissed me for the first time tonight. I dunno what he meant by it though. He could just be joking, he does things like that. You can never tell if he's being serious. He's quite a bit of a slut really.'"

Dean stuttered, his eyes frantic, "But Fin, I . . . I didn't mean . . . I just . . ."

"Of course you meant it. You just said it! What I am? WHAT I AM! You have no idea what I am Dean Thomas. You never did and you never will."

"Fin . . . Seamus. I'm sorry, please don't . . ."

But Seamus was already out the door, taking the steps to the common room two at a time. Ron's 'knowing' grin to Seamus fell instantly from his lips. "What happened?" Seamus' eyes stung.

He was /not/ going to give Dean the satisfaction of hearing that he cried. And there was no way he could even speak to Ron without bursting into tears. He stormed past the red haired boy and out of common room painting, hitting the stairs at a run. He needed some time by himself.

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This was the dumbest thing Draco had possibly ever done. He almost didn't believe it. He, the great Draco Malfoy, most respected and feared Slytherin in their year, was climbing the stairs to the /Gryffindor/ dormitories to /apologize/ to a boy he /liked./ There were so many things wrong with that concept he shuddered at the thought. Oh, how the mighty had fallen. Soon enough they'd be telling him the Sorting Hat had made some terrible mistake and he was supposed to be a Hufflepuff.

This was dumb. Dumb, dumb, idiotically and stupidly dumb. Draco Malfoy did not need to apologize. He was just going to turn around and pretend he had never started this dumb journey up these dumb curving stairs to see that dumb Finnigan. He was thankful no one had seen him, Draco could at least save face. He had just half-turned to go back down when a blue blur slammed into him, coming around the bend in the staircase at a full run. Draco fought valiantly to keep his balance, but in the end he lost to the 9.8 meters per second squared down constant miserably. He hit down hard on the stone stairs, the blue blur settling in a tangle on the landing three steps below.

"Idiot! Why don't you try to open your eyes next time you decide to run haphazardly around staircases?" Draco bristled with anger, this was neither the time nor the place for someone ignorant and stupid to get on his nerves. "Apologize before I castrate you, you miserable excuse for a wizard! Who the hell do you think you are?"

The head turned slightly and Draco saw that it was Finnigan. And Finnigan was crying. "Sorry," he mumbled miserably, not meeting Draco's eyes.

The anger died in his throat as Draco watched the tears streak down Finnigan's face. He looked so utterly unhappy. "No you're not." Draco stood briskly and pulled Finnigan up from the stairwell, giving him a small smirk which he returned a bit quizzically. "You are Seamus Finnigan and you don't need to apologize." He looked him in the eyes, water still brimming at the outside edges.

Finnigan broke his gaze and turned his attention to the floor, "I'm not really in the mood to talk Malfoy."

"Yeah? Well tough, I am."

"You certainly weren't this morning," Finnigan countered acidly pulling out of his grasp.

Madly in love with him and his skivvies or not, nobody talked to Draco Malfoy that way. It took every ounce of his strength not to throttle him right there in the stairwell. "Maybe I just don't like conversations about the finer points of that twit, Thomas."

"Well, you don't have to worry about me talking about /Dean/ anymore." Finnigan said his name with an angry hiss.

"Why? What happened?"

"He called me a slut again." Fresh tears spilled down the freckled cheeks, "We were together and I thought everything was great and I wanted him and everything so badly, then all of a sudden he starts to talk but he couldn't say 'I love you' or 'I like you' or anything that might make me feel good like that. Just 'I knew you couldn't change what you are.'" Draco took back his thought from this morning at breakfast, he wasn't glad he was there when Finnigan found out that Thomas wasn't a great guy. He felt horrible.

Draco could not bear to watch anyone cry. Such a raw outpouring of any emotion made him extremely squeamish, especially sadness. In the Malfoy household you were allowed one of three feelings: anger, contempt, or superiority. Anything else was a luxury they could not afford as a prominent wizarding family. He was at a loss. "Um . . . its okay? Don't worry. Uh . . . cheer up."

All of a sudden Finnigan had pulled him into a tight hug and Draco did not resist, feeling the smaller boy shudder as he sobbed. "I just can't believe him. I tried so hard and he was so . . ."

"Did he hurt you? That bastard." Draco pulled away enough from the embrace to look Finnigan square in the face, feeling his awkward sympathy shift into something much more tangible and useful of the big Malfoy three – anger. He was going to murder Dean Thomas for hurting Finnigan.

"No, he didn't," Finnigan's face shifted thoughtfully, "not really at all. I don't think I love him anymore."

"Oh..." Before Draco could finish his poorly articulated sentence, Finnigan was kissing him softly and intently. Draco hesitated briefly, then consented, succumbing to lips and visions of plaid boxers. He wasn't sure how long the kiss lasted, but as they broke apart, he found Seamus smirking wildly at him.

"Uh-oh," he grinned, "does this mean I'm a slut again"

Draco smiled back in spite of himself. "Of course not. You are Seamus Finnigan and you are absolutely positively not a slut."

A/N: Woot, thanks so much for reading, especially ATadObsessive46 and Saziikins, who make up a large chunk of my reviews ) A gold star also to anyone who noticed the parallel structure between the end of chapter 3 and the end of this chapter. Thanks again for your patience with my first foray into the Harry Potter fanfic world, perhaps I shall continue after all heh. Cheers,

Kelly


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